


Dust of the Moon

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Category: Priest (2011)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Religious Guilt, no noncon tho, old fic from ff. net, there is lube involved, threats of biting, use of force during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-15 08:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: Inevitable; drawn together and bound for mutual destruction, and what a destruction it would be.





	Dust of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This was stolen by some asshat and actually published is a physical form?? so I'm moving all my fanfiction.net fics over because at least AO3 has some sort of protection. Just google my username by fanfiction. Net if you're curious. No, they never actually contacted me about it, and i can't get a hold of them :/

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_**Dust Of The Moon.** _

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Their feet kicked up dust that hung in the air long after their passing, shimmering in the pale light, the landscape turned blue and black and white under the light of the three quarter moon. He felt the hand as it closed around his arm, but kept running, ignoring the insistent pulls of those fingers, as they pressed the harsh fabric into his bare skin. It itched, stung where grains of sand had been ensnared in the weave, but he ignored that too.

A stumbled step, the sound almost swallowed by the oppressive silence of the night. He hadn't expected him to keep running; after all, his hunter was so much stronger than him. They both knew it; why fight it? A soft noise of frustration as his pursuer righted himself, the hand on his bicep tightening, until the press of fabric was a burn, scraping roughly across the skin beneath it. There was strength, an undercurrent of a threat. He could stop, or the choice would be made for him.

Reluctantly, he slowed, scowling down at the sand by his feet. The hiss of spilling grains, a miniature landslide; shifting feet. When the hand pulled, tugging him around, he didn't resist, going with the movement.

Parting his lips; moving his tongue, the protest forming on his lips - shattered as a possessive hand cupped his nape, dragging their mouths together before any words could be said. His hands moved on their own accord, lifting to tangle in his brown hair, knocking off the leather hat with one careless swipe. Neither of them noticed; neither of them cared.

It had them now; the impulse, the momentum of the moment. The hand on his arm is dragging off his coarse, full sleeved robe; he lets it go, releasing his hair long enough to let the fabric slide from his arms, chasing that mouth with his own, refusing to let the moment break. Breaking apart would give him time to think, time to reconsider.

The thump of fabric, the hiss of disturbed sand. His now-free hand moved to his waist, dragging the priest closer, burning through the thin fabric of his sleeveless shirt; his hot touch makes the night seem that much colder, draws attention to their steaming breath, clouding the air around their faces. But that warm hand is moving up the side of his body, scorching his will-power with the lust it raises, and the cold is easy to forget, to relish as just another sensation, heightening what his should-be enemy is doing to him, to his body.

He breaks the kiss- if such a sloppy thing can be called that- as his once-Brother slid a hand under his shirt, fingers curling around the bottom of his ribs, warm, so warm. Lips tease the skin at the hinge of his jaw, and he tips his head back, baring his neck, and Black Hat – he can't call him by name, not here, not now- obligingly moved further down. A hot tongue, sweeping across the thin flesh- tasting his pulse, pausing over it. The press of enamel; the flat fronts of his teeth, not the sharp edges, but it still sends a cold wave up his back. This is a predator he's toying with; one that was inclined, for the moment, to play at civilized; a veneer that could be shed at any moment, leaving him with the beast. He suppressed the shiver of fear, but felt the gooseflesh march across his skin. The words _'playing with fire_ ' came to mind.

Then he was moving on, leaving the fear- the threat- behind, in favour of pursuing other pleasures. Even though the threat was still there- it was never gone, not while he was holding him, touching him- his body relaxed, fear sliding away once more into the relentless hands of lust. The threat of the monster- rather than the man- had the desired effect.

His body burned.

There movements were frantic, hands getting in each other's way as each tugged at the clothing of the other; belts, shirts, pants. Shoes were kicked off, weapons thrown away without care; all the while, mouths fought, lips met, teeth clashed, tongues battled. Priest dragged a hand down his hunter's back, nails digging in, leaving angry lines; Black Hat retaliated, biting down on the holy man's collarbone, fabric caught between skin and teeth, preventing the poison from reaching broken, bloody flesh.

Violence mingled with lust, both switching between the two too fast to follow; the bloody bite was soothed the next moment with almost-reverent lips, blood washed away with cat-like licks, kisses placed on the reddened skin.

Hands met; Black Hat forced Priest's down, tangling their fingers together as he licked a hot stripe across his captive's throat, a deep, possessive noise rumbling up from his chest; gold eyes caught blue, holding them as he reached between their bodies, sliding his hand down with exaggerated slowness, watching for that flicker; the doubt, the second thoughts. Just as they flickered into existence, he grasped him, pumping his flesh hard; following those blue eyes as his body bucked and writhed, keeping them, never allowing him look away. Forcing him to acknowledge this; forcing him to acknowledge them, what they were doing. Not allowing his once-brother anywhere to hide. Kept it up long enough to make a point, before letting him escape, look into the sky above them.

Black Hat let his lips return to his priest's throat, tasting his pulse as he toyed with his body, running his thumb over the head of his cock, then drawing his nail carefully over the slit; pressed on the vein running along the underside, rubbed under the crown. Smirked as his fare skin slowly flushed, spreading across his chest, up his neck, over his face. Not embarrassment; it had intrigued him the first time. Priest felt no shame in their actions, no embarrassment about his hands- a _man's_ hands- on his body. Not even about what he was.

They were inevitable. They were drawn to one another, destined for mutual destruction; and what a destruction it would be. All that hate, all that rage; that lust, the shame. All of it, coming out at once, as they spilt each other's blood all across the once-sacred cities. How he looked forward to it.

He drew his mouth across his flushed skin, parting his lips and letting the flats of his teeth drag across his skin, tasting the blood so close to the surface; there was no temptation to bite, no urge to convert him into a slave. He wanted him, heart, body, mind, soul, faith. He wanted him to be just like him, to wear the cross on his forehead, and gold eyes within his face. Wanted to hone that anger, turn it against the people who deserved it. Show him the purity of his twilight existence.

The muscles beneath his mouth jumped, a small noise worming past his Priest's tight control. Instantly, he stilled, removing his hand from his cock. He trailed it up his ribs, stroking his own fluids back onto his flushed skin; smirked at the flash of irritation in his pale eyes.

Gripped his chest, holding him place for a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Looked him in the eyes; smirked again. Could see the anger mixed with the lust, the frustration with the disgust. With himself, not him. After all, vampires were animals- and an animal could not be blamed for its nature. But humans weren't animals; they were responsible for their own fall from grace.

He had to untangle their fingers, a motion that caused a sense of loss in his chest, hating to give up something Priest would find significant. The man read into the small gestures, the _human_ motions, and it added more fuel to the chaotic swirl of emotions in his eyes. But he needed his hand to find the small bottle of prayer oil, the one he knew his prey kept on him at all times.

Not for this purpose, of course. But he appreciated the irony.

The frantic tension had stalled, Priest's discomfort with their act reaching its peak. Here was where he was most likely to lose him; the one time mind games had to be put on hold, or his prey would escape. Prayer oil slicked his hand, as he shifted his body, pressing naked flesh to naked flesh, pressing into him while his prey moved in surprise. One tan arm circled his waist, holding the struggling man to himself as he pressed his fingers deeper, ignoring the hissed, angry words. Black Hat kept them pressed together, from shoulder to groin, rolling until Priest lay on top, still pinned to his assailant's body. One of the vampire's thighs was shoved between his own, forcing his legs apart, opening him to further attention from unwelcome fingers.

The only point he ever hesitated, the discomfort as unique as to snap him from the lust-idled, instinct-ridden, animal part of his brain. He could struggle all he wished, but the vampire never lessened his assault, never showed any mercy for his change of heart. The blunt nails scraped inside him until they found the place to end his struggles, using it to keep him in his animal mind, forget the unique discomfort.

He swallowed any noise he might give, kept them inside- denied his once-brother, as he could deny him nothing else. The stop-and-go, jolting pleasure never lasted long, for which he was grateful; soon after the first intrusion, a third finger pressed into him, leaving him with a renewed sense of discomforted pain, distracted from by lips on his throat, teeth pressed against his skin, the touch enough to demand all his attention; the shiver of unease he could never stop. But it was effective; it always was.

Soon he was moving again, flung once more onto his back, fingers still within him, enemy crouched between his thighs, smirking down at him, all smug gold eyes and tanned skin. They stared at one another for a small eternity, ignoring the demands of flesh. Knowing where this path led. Knowing, and still there.

He grit his teeth, reaching toward him, yielding as the owner of those gold eyes had know he would, crushing their mouths together as fingers were removed, and his enemy breached his body.

He broke the kiss, dragging deep, slow breaths, hating the sensation, loving it, hating the situation, yearning for it. Conflict, so bright and sharp, in his face; knowing it was there, as he felt his pulse inside him, body remembering this, hungering for it, even as his mind fought. Should be used to it; never would be. Snarling up at his vampire, hating him for causing such confusion within him, unable to leave him behind.

_"Move."_ Not recognizing his own voice, as it growled through the cold air, low and rough, full of frustration and anger, want and need; damning him with its contents more than their physical act ever could.

Blaming him for this loss of faith in everything he had believed in, as he clutches the nape of a dead man, fingers tangled with dirty hair; as they move as one creature, the pulse of his vampires too-human heart branding him from the inside as his hands brand him form without.

The sensation of _right_ , of his body stretched, filled, satisfied in ways it had been long denied. They were something that never should have been; something his own actions had helped create. Strange that his first actions towards atonement would lead to such great sin. One innocent act of faith leading to all of this; to the body, hard and burning above him, skin slick with sweat, growling words in his ear he barely heard, as strong thrusts moved him deeper inside his body. The very feeling of having a man within him, so alien and yet not what he would have expected. He'd come to want it, to crave it as they met, the burn of stretched skin, the restrained power; the jolts of painfully sharp pleasure that came so without pattern, lucky shots; off-and-on sensation of a hot, slick body, rocking against his pinned erection, so unlike a woman, so unlike everything he'd been told was right.

But familiarity had not bred contempt; it was different, yet in its own way, right. Being pinned under his weight, scratchy wool at his back, the bite and itch of sand under it, his own labored breathes, straining body; the power of his thrusts driving him up the robe, just a little, each time; clutching him, drawing blood with his nails, anchoring himself as the vampire drove him closer to the precipice, making his breath catch, come short, skin twitch, muscles jump, thighs tremble. Drawing him deeper, wrapping a leg around his hips, _pulling_ the man deeper into his body, demanding for him to move harder; there was no utter _wrongness_ to the motions, not while he was going through them.

Not while his cock was scraping across his insides, leaving ht fire in its wake, liquid fire, and he was moving without restraint, thrusting as deeply as he could as he came within him.

Priest threw back his head, the harsh noise of release he made grating across the vampire's skin as the body beneath him tightened, clamping down on him, dragging deliciously against his flesh as he moved into it, pounded the man beneath him into the sand, growling as he spilt inside him; wanted to keep going, but the limits of flesh stopped him. Kept moving through his Priest's orgasm, shoving into him ruthlessly, feeling as the mortal's nails bit through his skin, blood trailing down his shoulders. Relished the sensation, the knowledge; kissed his lips as he lay spent, panting, against his dark robe. Made no move to unjoin their bodies.

Lifting himself up on his elbows to look down at the flushed, damp body beneath him; chuckling at the half-hearted glare, soaking in his tired rebellion. But his earthly holy man made no move to cover himself, to move away. He lay, sprawled, pale against dark fabric, glaring defiantly up at him as he gave into his body's exhaustion.

Black Hat let his eyes wander, taking in his thoroughly debauched form, running a hand reverently over flushed milky skin, touch firm to quell the over-sensitive shivers that raked Priest. The man made a noise of protest, irritation flaring in his face, in the slowly forming stubborn set of his chin. Putting his foot down, so to speak. Alas, there would be no afterglow this night, no languid tangle of limbs in the cool moonlight. Another time, perhaps.

Priest tried to suppress the full body shudder as Black Hat pulled slowly from his body, the smirk on the former holy man's face suggesting that he'd failed to hide his discomfort. He remembered nights similar to this, where they would lay, tangled together, silent, until their bodies craved once more, and they gave into wicked sin. But tonight his mind spun, and the tang of blood in the air kept him from sinking mindless into that state.

He waited impatiently for the vampire to move off him, moving quickly to pull his clothing on before he gave into that ever present temptation, as it watched him dress. Embarrassment warred with shame, fought with anger. Another battle, twisted into something he had no name for, something he was unprepared to handle. It burned inside, twisted and squirmed, these unpleasant emotions. Hands smoothed over his shoulders, and he froze, giving the man a flinty look. But the vampire simply shrugged off his bad mood, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth, as he slid the rumbled robe up his arms, settling it on his shoulders. An innocent act, a simple, human gesture.

His body stilled, heart chilling. Vampire. Human. Both. Neither.

Confusion.

Frustration.

Lips pressed to his nape, closed, human.

Teeth brushed the shell of his ear. Cold. Vampire.

"Go home, Isaac."

A gentle, careful word. His name. How long had it been?

Turning to look, to speak, but knowing even as he does that his temptation is gone; looking around at the shadows, standing within the amidst the dust of the moon.

Confusion.

Frustration.

Why did they walk this convoluted, twisted road?

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End file.
